Don't Be Dumb, Boy
by R.Rettler
Summary: Sherilyn Singer knew exactly what she was doing when she stepped through that portal. The odds of landing in the right universe were a 657 billion to one, but she'd take that chance any day. She needed to find the famous hunter Rufus Turner and if there was a version of him out there somewhere, Sherilyn had to find it.
1. Chapter 1

The house had been perfectly preserved under a thick layer of dust.

Unwashed plates sat in the sink with stains from old meals, the fridge had become a coffin for mummified food, the pile of dirty clothes sitting in an armchair had made the perfect rat nest, and miscellaneous hunting supplies, books, and beer bottlers were scattered. Dean and Sam Winchester were the last ones that had been in the house nearly 6 years ago. They didn't clean it, comb it over for buried treasure, or take any personal namesakes besides a metal flask. The boys simply turned off the power and water, locked it, and walked away. Weeds had over grown in the car salvage out back and on the porch where an old pair of boots sat by the door. Much like it's late owner though, it held strong. The roof was still in one piece with no leaks, none of the windows were cracked or broken, the support beams and front door had kept everything in place and secure, and the walls remained familiar.

When the lock clicked and the backdoor to Bobby's kitchen swung open with a creek, the house seemed to stir with hope that it's owner had finally returned. It was not Bobby Singer though, it was someone else. A girl, in fact. All she carried was backpack and a loaded revolver. She looked in with curiosity. She knew this house, but this house did not know her.

When Sherilyn had woken up two days ago to her EMF reader going berserk she had not planned on ending up in another universe, but times were tough back home and she couldn't pass up on the opportunity for help. Her home – _not this one, but her real one –_ had been neater when she locked it and left for the trip. The windows had been opened to let light in and it didn't smell of old socks. Her father's ashes and mother's portrait were on the mantel. Sherilyn had kept her home tidy. Whoever lived in this version of it must have been a mess.

The sky behind her melted from black to a vibrant pink, perfectly outlining her features. Sherilyn was thick but muscular in youth. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a bun and sun spots were already starting to show on her high cheek bones. When she got older the skin of her face would sag like Bobby's and her short fuse would get even shorter, but for now youth made Sherilyn look sturdy and like someone you wouldn't want to get in a fight with. The only part of her mother were her eyes. Hazel with splotches of brown in them. Sherilyn was a Singer, through and through.

Her button nose sniffed the air realizing for the first time that no one had been here in a long time. A mixture of stagnant air, dust, and mildew in the walls left her lungs heavy. With the barrel of the revolver she reached for the nearest light switch and tried to turn on the lights. "Shit." She muttered when nothing turned on.

Sherilyn wasn't entirely sure how she had found herself here in this world but was thankful that everything seemed familiar so far with only slight changes. Realizing that no one was home – or had been home – gave her a sense of relief that immediate confrontation would not happen. Sherilyn relaxed. Dropping her head in defeat to the day, she threw her bag into the house and then walked back outside towards the shed where the old breaker-box was. Hers had been replaced several years ago but this one was missing its metal cover and had rusted through on some spots. Small pieces of tape with faded hand writing were stuck next to each switch.

 _Heater_

 _Basement Lighting_

 _Lighting_

 _Lighting_

 _Office Lighting_

 _Office Heater_

 _Washer_

 _Bedroom Heater_

 _Bedroom Lighting_

 _Kitchen Lighting_

It was her fathers hand writing.

With a bit of effort, Sherilyn pried each one of the rusted switches for _lighting_ and _heater_ over to the "on" side. The house grunted and its pipes moaned as it tried to kick back into life for the newly found Singer family member. Sherilyn walked back inside just as the last few bits of sunlight were disappearing. She kept the side door open behind her and turned to face the abandoned house.

A few mice ran in the walls at the disturbance and clouds of dust that had been spit out from the air vents were swirling around, but Sherilyn knew she was safe here and that's all that really mattered. She'd open the windows for half an hour, need to throw some trash out in to the yard, and call the power and water company but this place would hold her for a while. There was no time to waste with getting everything in order. She looked at her watch as it clicked to 5:30pm. If she called now everything might still be open.

Setting to work Sherilyn pulled out her cellphone and called the local water company first. As the phone rang she loaded the dirty dishes from the sink into a trash bag she found under the sink and began to clean.

"Sioux Falls Water Well, my name is Patty how can I help you?"

"Hi Patty, I need the water turned back on in our family's house."

"Well," her Midwest accent hung thick as she smacked her lips on the other end of the phone. "What's the address, Sugar?"

"8584 S. Deetree Rd. Sioux Falls, South Dakota."

Sherilyn could hear Patty type on her keyboard with long artificial nails. "Singer residence?"

"That's the one."

"Looks like the account is under Bobby Singer and has an outstanding bill that you'll have to pay before we're able to turn it on for you."

Sherilyn threw a dirty bowl into a trash bag making it break and shatter against other plates. "How much?"

"Four hundred and eighty-six."

It was a tense moment between the two women. "Fine." Sherilyn fished out a pre-paid credit card she had picked up on her way here and gave Patty the numbers. As Patty walked her through some of the logistics, Sherilyn opened the fridge and gagged as the trapped smell of rotting food stung her nostrils. Clamping a hand down firmly over her mouth, she put Patty on speaker and began to throw food out of the fridge and into the bag with such speed that Sherilyn did it without taking a new breath until she was outside and throwing the bag into the yard.

Her eyes had begun to water from the stench of the fridge but the fresh air helped clear her lungs. Sherilyn took a few deep breaths and looked out at the shadows of towering car piles.

"Hello? _Hello?"_ Sherilyn her Patty's voice squawking from inside.

"Sorry!" She yelled as she lunged back in towards the counter where her cellphone sat. "Sorry, I'm here."

"Well," Patty said a little less politely after being ignored. "You're all set to go-," Sherilyn turned the nozzle on the sink and watched as a mixture of trapped air and dust sputtered out of the faucet before the pipes shook and water came.

"'preciate it." She hung up the phone and leaned on the counter to look at the house.

All of the misplaced items, old leather-bound textbooks, candles, ritualistic drawings, and weapons would have made most people nervous but Sherilyn knew what it was all for. She rolled her eyes at the thought of her dad huddled over books about Monsters and called the power company.

"MidAmerican Power Company this is Tamara is it ok if we record this phone call for training purposes?"

"Yep." Sherilyn watched as the refrigerator door started to slowly close on its own. She looked around and grabbed a bucket full of empty bullet casings to keep the fridge door propped open. It needed to air out _badly._

"How can we help you today?"

"I need the power turned back on in the house I'm in. I'm running off a generator right now and don't want to lose it in the middle of the night."

"I hear that. It's supposed to be below 30 tonight. Well you called just in time. We're close to closin' up for the night. What's the address?"

Sherilyn appreciated the fact that Tamara wasn't looking for a conversation. "8584 S. Deetree Rd. Sioux Falls, South Dakota."

Tamara hummed to herself as her computer loaded, "Singer?"

"The very one."

"Um," you could hear the girl chewing on her lip, "Ma'am your account seems to be overdrawn and without that bill paid we can't turn your power back on."

Sherilyn sighed, "of course, ready?" She pulled out the same pre-paid credit card and started to rattle off numbers and expiration dates. As she waited for confirmation she noticed how quiet the house was now that the mice had stopped running and the old pipes and wires had settled down. Sherilyn turned to make sure the fridge door was still open along with all the nearby windows. She'd close and relocked everything after she got off the phone.

"Alrighty Ma'am, your landlines and power should be turning on momentarily-," on cue the refrigerator light clicked on and started to hum as a radio sitting on the shelf above the sink began to mumble staticky words. Little red lights popped up all over the house; on the TV, on the laptop plugged into the outlet, the clock on the microwave began to flash an inaccurate 12:30pm, and a series of wall phones all stationed next to each other started to blink indicating dozens of voicemails.

"Thanks." Sherilyn hung up and threw her phone on the counter. There was a lot to do before she could finally settle down for the night.

She moved the bucket of bullet casings and let the empty fridge close, shut and locked the side door then moved to each one of the windows that she had opened and closed them. On the last window, at the base of the latch was a small cluster of rock salt that had managed to survive over the years.

"Oh Jesus Christ, Dad." _What a paranoid old man he must have been_ , she thought to herself. Sherilyn pinched the leftover salt between her fingers and rolled it around. She sighed and hung her head, her own little bit of paranoia sinking in.

Grabbing her revolver off the door side table, Sherilyn headed towards the basement with her gun locked and loaded. The door swung open and lights flicked on without an issue. Below were more weapons, boxes and garbage to the untrained eye. Shoved in the corner were toddler sized burlap sacks full of salt. The cold air made her move quickly and before long the basement was dark again and shut behind a closed door.

Sherilyn started in the kitchen lining the doors and windows with salt, then the living room, dining room and front door. She turned to the stairs going up towards the bedrooms. A little bit of fear tickled at the base of her skull. _What would she find up there,_ Sherilyn wondered? _A body, a creature, a shadow lurking behind the door?_ In her version of this home she had kept the lights on at all times after her father died. Having a fear of the dark would be an understatement for Sherilyn – she was terrified of it. But like Bobby, Sherilyn couldn't let a good defense fall to the waist side. She walked up the stairs and in to each of the three bedrooms. The first would have been the guest bedroom. Just like in her house an old moldy bed and wooden frame with a neatly made spread sat alone in the room, this one was just covered in more dust. There was a simple bedside table and a chair with extra blankets on it, but nothing more. She salted the window and closed the door on her way out. Next was her room. The door stood ajar and the ceiling fan had begun to spin again, trailing spiderweb on each of its panels. In this world it Bobby must have lived in it. The room was messy to say the least. Clothes were in random piles around the room, the bed was unkept and a few empty bottles of coke or beer were sitting on the bedside table. Stacks of books and old newspapers were lining the walls. The only recognizable thing she had seen so far was a portrait of her mother propped up next to the bed. It was the same one hanging above her mantel in the living room next to other framed family photos. Sherilyn left the room as it was and salted the window before moving on to the last bedroom _._

She hesitated for a moment outside. The door was ajar but not enough to see inside. Sherilyn pushed it with the barrel of her revolver and flicked on the light switch. For the most part she wasn't surprised. Much like the spare bedroom, this one had an old mattress and bedframe that was neatly made with a simple bedside table and chair. Sherilyn walked across the room and to the window, the bag of salt significantly lighter than when she started, poured a heavy line across the window sill and retreated down stairs.

The mumble from the radio kept the silence at bay as she stood uneasily in the house for the first time.

Seeing the house in this condition brought back dark memories. In the two weeks leading up to her mother's death, Sherilyn witnessed some horrific things. Black eyes, inhuman power and emotional abuse. She witnessed her mother snap her own back and straighten it in the kitchen, watched as she dug her nails in to her own forearm and bit the ear off the family cat. Sherilyn was there that night her father pulled out the shotgun. Her mother had been in the kitchen looking for butcher knives and talking in some unknown tongue. It was on the family phone that Bobby had called uncle Rufus over to come help. The screams for her mother could still be heard echoing in the walls when Rufus tied her down and preformed an exorcism. The flurry of black smoke disappearing out a window and the dead body left behind created only questions for Sherilyn and her father Bobby.

The month after her mother's death was the worst. She stopped going to school after a teacher called Child Protective Services for noticing Sherilyn's dirty clothes and consistent lack of lunch. They had asked her where her mom was and Sherilyn couldn't answer. They asked her what he dad had been doing recently, and she said "drinking." They did a wellness check on the home one day and saw only beer cans, obsessive newspaper clippings, books, and a stock pile of weapons forming in the living room. They took Sherilyn that day and she was with a foster family for a week. Rufus was the one that came and got her. Technically, in the universe that she left, Rufus was her legal guardian. When she returned home Bobby was completely engulfed in the supernatural and from there the two of them, with the frequent help of Rufus, set out to find her mother's murderer.

She embraced the new world and enjoyed learning about the different monsters but she avoided hunting and had only been out a few times. Sherilyn preferred doing the research and wishing her father and Rufus well as they left for several weeks at a time. She'd stay behind and man the phones.

The blinking lights from the landlines caught her attention and welcomed a much needed distraction. There were 5 of them on the wall next to the side door, one on the table below, and two more on the far side of the room near what she assumed was Bobby's desk. Each one had a piece of duck-tape with black sharpie scribbled on it or had been written on directly. Additional notes had been inked in on the wall next to some.

 _FBI – Agent Lovell_

 _Federal Marshal – Greg McFadden_

 _C.D.C – Mark Flighten_

 _Health Department – Richard Peterson_

 _Police – Officer Reed_

 _CIA – Agent Rafter_

 _Homeland Security – Spencer Wheeler_

 _Personal_

The tan phone sitting on the table read _Singer's Salvage Yard_ in black sharpie. Curious, she took the phone off its receiver and punched the voicemail button that flashed a pale green.

 **BEEP.**

"Hey Bobby, It's Al from the hardware store. Listen, our work truck broke down and we were wondering if you could come tow it for us. Probably be able to fix it on our own, but any help will be appreciated."

 **BEEP.**

"Bobby, Terry here. I need a new car radio. Got any of those in your trash pile? Call me back."

 **BEEP.**

"This is Sioux Fall Water Well and we're calling to inform you that last month's bill was overdue. Our charts show us you're still using the water so we will not be shutting it off but all usage until the bill gets paid will have a 15 percent increase in fees. You can handle this matter online or call our offices."

 **BEEP.**

"Singer this is Lee down in Watertown. Listen, remember that tractor I let you borrow a few months back-?"

 **BEEP.**

Sherilyn walked away from the answering machine as it rang out forgotten voicemails from over the years and began to tidy up. Unraveling another trash bag from under the sink, she started with the trash that littered the living and dining room. Beer bottles and take out boxes mostly. She went through the cabinets and threw out all expired foods, which was mostly everything except for a few cans of beans, chicken, and tuna. The voices coming from the machine kept her company as Sherilyn walked around the house grabbing old pieces of her father's clothing and throwing them into one pile by the door. The washing machine was in the shed and would give her a task for tomorrow. She lined his boots up along the wall and hung his hats on hooks above the fireplace. As Sherilyn moved through the house it became apparent that this world's Bobby Singer had moved on to another place.

 **BEEP.**

"Now listen here, Bobby." The voices were getting a little more agitated from being ignored. "I've called three times now about comin' down to look for a useable pair of tires. If you don't call me back I'm comin' down there to get them myself."

 **BEEP.**

Sherilyn took the cushions off the couch and beat them profusely against the wall to dislodge all dust and debris. Her mother's decorative pillows that were once perfectly embroidered and bright now hung limp and dull. She kept the least trashed one and threw out the rest.

 **BEEP.**

"Haven't seen you around in a few days, Singer. Let me know where you're at."

 **BEEP.**

Bobby's desk was a mess of papers, notes, news clippings, and books. Odd assortments of bone, weapons, crushed or whole vegetation, bottled and corked liquids, and a few teeth were unearthed as she gave everything a quick shuffle. Her father's handwriting was scrawled on most of the papers and opened books. She didn't move or throw out anything on the desk because it was the only part of the Supernatural she cared about – information.

She was intrigued with the web of clippings and notes stapled or pinned to the walls around the desk. They all revolved around mysterious deaths, unforeseen outbreaks, Dick Roman, Roman Enterprises, weird weather patterns, and repeated missing person cases. Sherilyn leafed through a some and traced the few pieces of string that connected old cases together. There was a picture taped to the wall that caught her eye. She recognized two people in the photo; Bobby and Helen. They looked like themselves. Same style, same stern attitudes. Bobby wore the same hat and beard and everything. The only difference was that this Bobby was sitting in a wheelchair.

 _When did he lose his legs?_ She squinted at the other group members. The other three men and blond girl were a mystery. A rag-tag team of Hunters if she'd ever seen one.

 **BEEP.**

"Me again. Called a few folks around town and people said you've up and left. I'm coming to get my tractor, Bobby. Hope you're alright."

 **BEEP.**

"Mr. Singer this is Bill Rettger. I'm from out of town but my car broke down and none of the shops are open. I got my kid with me and I was really hoping you'd be able to help me out. You can reach me at this number."

 **BEEP.**

Sherilyn pulled the photo off the wall and saw on the backside a few names scribbled in. _Helen and Jo Harvelle, Castiel – angel, Dean and Sam Winchester._ She flipped at the photo again and peered at the blond girl. _Jo Harvelle?_ She thought, _Helen had a kid?_

 **BEEP.**

"Bobby, this is Chuck from the police department. I need you to call me back if you're there. We're going to do a wellness check tomorrow if you don't."

 **BEEP.**

The messages were becoming shorter and shorter except for the occasional message from out-of-towners looking for help. Sherilyn went around the house and made sure everything was locked and curtains pulled. She poured herself a glass of water and pulled a Slim-Jim out of her backpack that had been bought a gas station. Just as she bit off the first piece of dried beef, the voicemail's robotic voice politely said – **No more messages.**

The pale green light stopped flashing and the phone went still. Sherilyn walked over and unplugged it from the wall. The Singer's home phone could finally rest in peace.

She stared at the seven remaining phones still flashing. It was safe to assume that Bobby had been a rather respected member of the Hunting community if he had this many identities to play pretend with. She only had five. CIA, FBI, C.D.C, Homeland Security – Sherilyn chuckled at the idea of Bobby picking up these phones and seriously acting like he, the mechanic from Sioux Falls South Dakota, was an agent for the CIA.

"Let's see what the hunting community has to say then," She muttered to herself and unhooked the FBI receiver before hitting the voicemail number.

 **You have fifty-seven messages. First message.**

Sherilyn rolled her eyes and plopped down on the couch, propping her head on the arm rest.

 **BEEP.**

"This is Officer Blight over in Montana with the Montana State Troopers. We've got one of your agents in front of me saying you're in charge of my homicide cases for the FBI. You can understand our reluctance with giving out information, if you could call me back, I'll be here till 5."

 **BEEP.**

"Agent Lovell I have an Officer Chang sitting in front of me asking for the ability to enter our cemetery and dig up a dead lady. That ain't gonna happen. You can get a hold of me at the Redding California Morgue, this is Chad Surling."

 **BEEP.**

"My name is Trevor Day and I got your number off of a buddy of mine. I'm a hunter from down south and been trying to get rid of a nasty group of vamps', said to give you a call for some help. I'll be in Georgia until Wednesday."

 **BEEP.**

Sherilyn finished her Slim-Jim, pulled herself off the couch, slammed the phone back on the receiver and moved onto the CIA.

 **You have eighty-nine unheard voicemails.**

Sherilyn groaned at the thought of listening to so many and quickly hung the phone back up.

 **Forty-Four messages.** Called out the C.D.C voicemail.

 **Sixty-one unheard messages. First Message.** "Who needs the hell needs the Health Department that many times?" Sherilyn nearly cried out in astonishment.

She picked up the Homeland Security hotline. **Twenty – three messages.**

The Police Department; **One hundred and forty-eight messages.** Sherilyn's eyes widened and quickly slammed the phone back down.

 **You have one Message.**

She paused and flipped the phone over to see which line this was. _Personal._

 **Press pound to listen to messages.**

Sherilyn eyed the pound button suspiciously before pressing it down firmly.

 **BEEP.**

"Bobby, it's us. We're driving up."

 **BEEP.**

 **To hear messages again press pound.** She pressed it again.

 **BEEP.**

"Bobby, it's us. We're driving up."

 **BEEP.**

 **To hear messages again press pound.** She let the phone sit for a moment before pressing the star button.

 **585-555-8574**

The machine gave each number very firmly before going quiet again. Next to the Personal phone was a list of neatly written phone numbers on the wall under "Winchester." The same last name on the back of the photograph. Sherilyn punched the star button again.

 **585-555-8574**

Again.

 **585-555-8574**

There it was. The phone number was seventh on the list. She placed a finger next to the same set of numbers written on the wall under 'Winchester'. Sherilyn let her hand fall before giving the number a curious look and going to fetch the photograph. _Dean & Sam Winchester_. Which of the three strange men in the photo could they be? Sherilyn debated what to do for a moment before picking up the _Personal_ phone and dialing their number.

Nearby, on a high way heading out of Indiana a cellphone rang. Half asleep and looking for a motel, Dean nudged his brother in the passenger seat next to him to find the phone. Sam rolled his neck trying to wake up and picked up a bag to dig through.

It was one of their older phones that still had a number pad and an antenna. It lit up and vibrated with each ring.

"Who is it?" Dean grunted.

Sam turned to his brother after doing a double take of the screen. "Bobby."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean threw Sam a surprised look, "Well you gonna answer it or not?"

"We both know Bobby's dead Dean, who could it be?"

He rolled his eyes, "I know Bobby's dead, Sam. But pick it up would you, maybe he told someone about us and they need somethin'."

Knowing that his brother was right, Sam shifted in his seat and answered the call. He cleared his throat, "Hello?"

"Winchester?" A girls voice asked back.

"Uh, yeah. Who is this?" Sam glanced at Dean who was eying him suspiciously.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "How'd you know Bobby?"

Sam scrunched up his face, starting to get irritated with the lack of answers. "Look I'm not inclined to answer questions to someone I don't know. So either tell us who you are or call someone else in Bobby's book."

The girl sniffed, debating her options. "I'll be honest with you Winchester, it's not you I'm trying to get a hold of but I'll meet you half way. My name is Sherilyn and I'm looking for Rufus Turner, you know where he is?"

Sam let his mouth hang open a little, just long enough for Dean to get frustrated from the silence and slap him in the chest from the driver seat. "Dude," he hissed wanting to know more information.

"I – uh," Sam tried to snap himself out of it, he figured Bobby and especially _Rufus_ were closed books at this point. "I'm sorry, Rufus?" He repeated, "how-," he tried to find the right things to say. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this but Rufus passed away before Bobby did."

There was a long exhale on the other side of the phone, "shit," Sherilyn mumbled. "Helen dead too?"

"Helen?" Sam looked at Dean who was fed up with not knowing what was going on.

He grabbed the phone away from Sam and put it to his ear, "Who is this and why you askin' about dead people?"

"God dammit, she's dead too?" Sherilyn didn't care about the switch in speakers. "Alright, well it looks like you ijits are my best bet." The last line was more of a personal commentary, but Dean seemed surprised by her choice in words. "You know where Bobby's place is?"

"Of course we do!" Dean slammed on the breaks and turned the car around to go back towards the last exit already knowing where this was heading.

"I'll see you in a bit then." Sherilyn hung up the phone and threw it on the couch moments before she fell on to it too. A sigh escaped her lips, giving her a moment to figure out what there was to do next. With one foot propped up on the arm rest and the other on the floor, Sherilyn closed her eyes and began to make a mental list.

She'd need to clean up this house if she planned on staying here for more than a few days. Food had to be bought, laundry needed to be done, there had to be a car that still worked somewhere in this lot and it probably needed gas, she should shower, books were begging to be organized, if this world's Bobby had a artifact chest then it probably should be redone, and if he didn't have one, she would need to buy one, then there were the mice in the walls…

Before long Sherilyn had dosed off and Bobby's house fell to a standstill with all the lights on. Everything in and around Bobby's house was safe, so to speak, because everything that wanted to cause it harm had assumed the Winchester brothers had already ransacked it or burned it down so there was no point to stopping by and the good things in this world had assumed the same. So, to a lot of people, creatures, and demons, Bobby's house and all of it's little lost treasures hidden inside just weren't on the radar anymore.

Around 4 in the morning a 1967 black Chevy Impala pulled up the long dirt road leading to Bobby's house. It was a little nostalgic for them seeing everything exactly the way it had been left, with the addition of a few new weeds and rust spots. Not knowing what to expect, the brothers drew their guns and Dean fished out a key from the glove compartment. They went around back instead of the front and entered through the same side door that Sherilyn had. Dean unlocked the door and let it swing open disrupting the fresh line of salt on the floor.

Sam noticed it and nudged his brother. They both acknowledged it and ruled out the possibility of dealing with a demon.

Dean went first. Knees bent, shoulders hunched, both hands on his gun. Sam followed in the same stance, but there seemed to be nothing lurking in the shadows – _because there were no shadows._ Sam relaxed and stood up straight when he acknowledged all of the lights had been turned on, the power was running, and hearing the familiar drip of the leaky kitchen sink meant the water was running too. Sam scanned the house and was surprised that their new acquaintance was out in the open. "Dean," he whispered, his brother still locked and loaded for a fight.

Dean looked to his brother quickly and followed his line of site.

Curled up on the couch was a girl. Mid-twenties, maybe, it was hard to tell since her face was buried in the cushions. Quietly they walked forward. Sam saw her pistol on the couch side table. He grabbed it to take out the magazine and shove it in his back pocket. Dean noticed the old family photo of him, Sam, Cas, Helen, Jo, and Bobby on the coffee table.

"Who do you think she is?" Dean asked in a hushed tone, feeling relaxed enough to push the safety on his gun and let it drop.

Sam shrugged, "she asked about Rufus and Helen, which means she's probably been out of the loop for a while."

"Loop?" he squinted, "this kid couldn't have been older than five when they died. How'd she know them?"

"I don't know, Dean, wake her up." Sam did the same and let his gun fall to his side.

Dean didn't want to be the one to touch her, he was always so hesitant about things making sudden movements right in front of him. She could be awake and have another gun ready to go in her hand. He reached out with one arm completely extended and nudged her back with the barrel of his handgun. Sherilyn didn't stir so he did it again.

The second nudge didn't register either, which begged the question -, "she dead?" Sam asked.

Dean pursed his lips, this time reaching out with an open hand and grabbing on to her shoulder. He tugged hard and began to roll her over. As Sherilyn moved she woke up and lurched forward to try and defend herself in a daze which resulted in her falling nose first into the hardwood floor.

"Gah!" She shouted in surprise, grabbing her nose in the process before the blood could begin to flow. "What the hell?" Sherilyn looked up to see an older version of the man in the photograph with one hand on a loaded gun and another out in front, fingers spread wide to try and help. She slapped him away and got up on her own. "Dick."

Sherilyn moved for the kitchen where she had seen some dirty towels earlier only to see a second older version of a man from the photograph. She stopped for a moment to eye him wearily and then angled around him to the kitchen. The dirty dish cloth was more than dirty, it was disgusting, but Sherilyn pressed it up against he nose anyways and turned to face her new guests. "You the Winchesters, then?"

They looked to each other than back at her, "I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean." Dean nodded to Sherilyn after his introduction.

"Sherilyn Singer," She introduced herself through a clogged nose.

"Singer?" Sam clarified.

"That's right," she took the towel off her nose to see the amount of blood, then placed it back on. "But I really don't have time to give you a family tree run-down, boys. Before we start chatting I need you two to touch some silver and down a swig of Holy Water."

Being called a 'boys' and the hearing the familiar to-the-point way of speaking made it feel like Bobby was here somewhere. "Silver and Holy Water?" Dean cracked a smile at the small levels of verification they have forgotten or ignored over the years. Bringing it up reminded him up simpler times. "Alright bring it on." He placed his gun on the kitchen counter.

Sherilyn was already digging through her backpack on the counter and took out a small flask and small silver dagger. She threw Dean the flask and Sam the dagger, which earned her a disapproving panicked expression from Sam as he moved his hand out of the way of the dagger and let it wedge itself blade first into the hard wood floor. Dean chuckled and took a shot of the flask. Sam picked it up, waived it in his hand and pressed it up against his forearm then handed it to Dean who gave him the flask. They placed the two items on the kitchen table and tried to take over the conversation.

"If you're related to Bobby how come we've never heard of you?"

"If I'm related to Bobby how come I've never heard of you?" Sherilyn repeated the question back, dabbing her nose with the cloth. "It's a long story, boys, one you probably won't understand and something I really don't want to spend time on. I need Rufus and if not Rufus then I need Helen, but according to you, both of them are dead."

She let the sentence hang in the air and waited patiently for one of them to pick it up.

"Yeah, well, they've been dead a long time now." Dean started, "they were good people so show them some respect when talking about them -,"

"I have nothing but respect for them," Sherilyn cut in. "Rufus raised me, Helen was like a mom. How and when did they die?"

The brothers stood confused in their spots. How could someone have been so close to all three of these people and they never know about it? Dean cleared his throat, "Helen died with her _daughter_ in a blast when demons were trying to take over a few years ago and technically Bobby stabbed Rufus when a bug was in his brain playing puppet show."

Sherilyn dropped her gaze and placed the bloody towel on the kitchen counter, revealing a faint stain of blood still below her lip. She sighed and brought a delicate hand up to rub her temple. All the hope she had placed on this new world had vanished much sooner than she anticipated.

After a moment Sam came to her aid, "We can help with whatever you're trying to do, we just need some information..." He trailed off, hoping that Sherilyn would fill in the rest.

"Like I said," she muttered, "It's a long story."

"Perfect. We got all day." Dean said, throwing the car keys on the table and taking off his jacket. It was nice to be back in Bobby's house, even if things had been moved around and he wasn't there. The Bunker was getting to chaotic with people showing up constantly and there were books everywhere, which he hated. A vacation at Bobby's would be perfect.

"You're not going to believe me." She said simply.

Even though the boys weren't telepathic, twins, or anything that allowed you to read minds, Sam agreed with Dean's demeanor and started to settle in. "Sure we will. We believe in a lot of things." He cleared is throat, "you have any food here? Breakfast would be nice."

"Yes! Food." Dean's eyes lit up.

Sherilyn rolled hers. "No, there isn't any food." The boy's making themselves comfortable made her agitated. There was no reason for them to stay beyond them being nosy.

"Fine, I'll go get some. Dean?" Sam opened his hand as Dean tossed the car keys in to them.

"If they have a breakfast burger get me that. If they don't, then get me a regular burger and order a side of eggs." Sherilyn scrunched her nose at the thought of eating a burger for breakfast. "What do you want, Cupcake?"

She scrunched her nose up even more. "Don't call me Cupcake, and nothing, I'm fine."

"A breakfast burger and two American breakfasts' it is then. Be back in a few." Sam gave Dean a ' _don't let her leave,'_ look which his brother nodded an understanding too.

As Sam left, Dean sat down and kicked his feet up on Bobby's kitchen table. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Princess." He threw out another pet name to get under her skin. "You can either start talking, or we can wait until Sammy get's back and we can make you start talking. Either way, you've raised enough red flags with us to peak our interest and you ain't leavin' to we get the story."

Sherilyn was blown away by his cockiness. Never in her life had a hunter marched in to her house and talk to her like that. "Tell you what," she said throwing the ball back into his court. "If you help me clean this rat hole up until your brother gets back, maybe I'll tell you the truth."

"You just admitted you're gonna lie to us which isn't very smart."

"You calling me Princess isn't very smart."

They eyed each other for a moment, trying to sum one another up. With his brother gone, Sherilyn thought she might stand a chance at getting him out of the house. She might have not been a very well trained fighter but she had a few tricks up her sleeve.

Dean on the other hand wasn't concerned at all if they started getting physical. He never was, with anyone. "Let's start with where you come from." Dean demanded.

Sherilyn chuckled, "Siuox Falls South Dakota," raising her arms sarcastically and gesturing to the house around them. "A question for a chore, how's that sound? Help me take out the trash that's in the side yard."

Dean set a hard expression, "it seems like you got this funny notion in your head that you're gonna _live here_ , but you're not. Let's make that real clear right now. I'm not going to take any of Bobby's trash out or help you do chores because no one is moving in." He let his feet fall to the floor and neatly folded his hands on the table, leaning in almost daring Sherilyn to make a sudden move.

"Where am I supposed to go, if not my house?"

"This isn't your house, _Cupcake_."

Sherilyn's face fell to match Dean's. She turned her chin to the side and cracked her neck, debating what to do about this strange man overstaying his welcome. Dean's handgun was a foot away from her, she could grab it and force him out. The factor of being a huge cluts had be to factored in though. He was far enough away, she thought, and created a fair chance at winning.

Without looking at Dean she reached for his abandoned gun and had it in her grasp when one muscular arm wrapped around her neck and other grabbed on to the wrist holding the gun. Damn this guy moves fast and now she looked like the asshole.

"Drop it," he said tightening the choke hold. Without hesitation she let the gun go and it thumped to the ground. Dean didn't budge on his hold. "How do you know Bobby?" He was over playing games with her.

"He's my dad."

"Bullshit. Try again."

"He's my dad, I swear." Sherilyn's face was starting to turn red from lack of oxygen. Both her hands had found their way to Dean's forearm and were trying to pry him off.

"I've known Bobby since I was 8 and he never mentioned a damn daughter. Who are you?"

Sherilyn tried to suck in a big breath of air, only getting half of what she needed. "Sherilyn Singer, you dick. I came through a little stupid golden light and ended up here." Dean let his grip go and she fell forward away from him, frantically trying to fill her lungs.

"You came through the portal?"

"Fuck you."

He gave her a moment, feeling slightly bad now that he understood. "Where was it?" Dean's hope for saving his mom and Jack rose in his chest.

Focusing on breathing, Sherilyn raised a middle finger at him and took several strained gulps of air.

"Look, I'm sorry, ok?" He picked up his gun and took out the magazine to signal peace. "I don't like having my own gun pointed at me. Why don't we just sit down and start from the beginning." He moved slowly and sat back down at the kitchen table.

Sherilyn shook her head. "Screw you."

They sat in silence for several minutes while she straightened herself out. The tention in the air had decreased significantly now that Dean wasn't on the defensive. He wished Sam would hurry up and get back, he was never the best at making amends. Dean wondered if he should call in Cas for this but remembered that he was surfing through heaven somewhere. He wanted to both hurry the process along of getting information out of this other-universe girl, and prolonging reality's imminent problems. It was nice being back at Bobby's. Like they had stepped back in time to simpler problems – if Leviathans could be considered simpler problems.

It took Sherilyn a minute to come around but talking to hunters was her strong suit and she still ultimately needed help. "I found your picture on the wall over there and then heard one of your voicemails. Only one on Bobby's personal phone. I figured whoever you were, you were important enough to get your own direct line and that it'd be worth my money to reach out."

Dean nodded, he and his brother definitely were worth the money. "I think we should start a little earlier than that, don't you? Like how you got here and why you climbed through a portal."

Keeping her distance, Sherilyn leaned up against a far wall in the kitchen and crossed her arms. "I woke up with my EMF reader going crazy. Followed the signals to an abandoned house a few blocks from here. I knew what it was when I saw it. Read about it before. Don't care to find the Nephilim who opened it, but I thought I'd take a chance at getting help. Where I come from things aren't so good."

"Tell me about it," Dean mumbled to himself. "Where you're from, Bobby still there?" He had already met another version of Bobby, post-apocalyptic version, actually, and it was somewhat frightening. Realizing for the first time that there could be a Bobby out there very similar to the one he knew was kind of nice.

"Old man died of liver failure two years ago. Suppose when mom died he didn't stand much of a chance at a healthy lifestyle."

"Your mom, she uh-," he tried to tread lightly, "get possessed and Bobby have to gank her?"

Sherilyn threw him a dirty look. "Smooth."

Judging by her response, he took it as a yes. "That happened here too, only there wasn't any kid involved. That's probably where the timelines split. So where you're from there's no us? No Winchester family anywhere?"

It was nauseating to some degree knowing that in this universe she didn't exist. "The only big shot hunter I know of is some idjit named Garth. Met him once. Had 'douche bag' printed all over him. Saved the world once and it's like he's God."

Dean cracked a smile. "Remind me to introduce you to our Garth. Man is a national treasure but completely useless." As he finished his sentence the black chevy impala could be seen in the horizon. "bout time."

They waited patiently while Sam arrived and got out of the car with take out bags. He handed Dean's his breakfast burger, took his own, and place a box in front of an empty chair for Sherilyn to take as he sat down. "What'd I miss?" Sherilyn stood her ground away from Dean and the food.

"Sherilyn here is from a different dimension, snuck through when I was probably out with Arthur." Dean grabbed hold of his food and began to eat.

Sam stopped and looked at her in surprise, the topic of jumping through portals way to familiar with them for comfort. "You're saying multiple portals form every time we open one?"

But Sherilyn was concerned about another issue, "you're actively jumping between dimensions? Are you _insane_? You can get away with it once or twice but you guys are talking about it like you do it every day!"

Dean snorted with food in his mouth, "we would if we could, sweetheart."

Her jaw hung open completely appalled. "How many times have you gone through?"

The brothers look at each other, "a couple, why?" Sam said.

Sherilyn wanted to reach out and strangle them. "You're messing with the fabric of not just _your_ reality but _everyone elses._ " She seethed. "Who are you guys and what's wrong with you!?"

Sam leaned back in his chair, "pretty sure you jumped through a portal too."

"Yeah, _once,_ knowing full well that I stand a chance of never going back!"

Sherilyn and Sam stared each other down while Dean continued to eat. "I appreciate your concern but we have reasons for jumping through portals, ok? And I can ask you the same question, who are you?"

Dumbfounded was the best way to describe Sherilyn. "My _name_ is Sherilyn Singer and I came here looking for Rufus Turner only to find the two halfwits who are most likely responsible for the issues occurring in _my_ universe. A _portal_ opened up a few months ago, and you know where it connected to?" She didn't give them the opportunity to respond, "purgatory. You know what purgatory is?" Again, she didn't care. "It's where all the dead monsters live. You know what happened when a door from purgatory opens to the normal world? Monsters run through it like their lives depend on it, _which they do_. And you know what came through with all those monsters?" This question she let hang in the air for a moment, giving her an opportunity to reach for her bag and pull a notebook. "Typhon." She slammed the note book down on the table to a page with several newspaper clippings taped in.

"Typhon is the father all monsters. He came in and basically resurrected all his children at the same time. Half of my world's population is already _dead_ because this portal opened."


End file.
